He took leave of his friends with a
beating heart, and set out on a delightful summer morning to revisit all
that had been, notwithstanding his long absence and severe trials,
so strongly wrought into his memory and affections. Our readers may,
therefore, suppose him on his journey home, and permit, themselves to be
led in imagination to the house of his former friend, Lanigan, where we
must lay the scene for the present.
Lanigan's residence has the same comfortable and warm appearance which
always distinguishes the habitation of the independent and virtuous man.
What, however, can the stir, and bustle, and agitation which prevail
in it mean? The daughters run out to a little mound, a natural terrace,
beside the house, and look anxiously towards the road; then return, and
almost immediately appear again, with the same intense anxiety to catch
a glimpse of some one whom they expect. They look keenly; but why is it
that their disappointment appears to be attended with such dismay?
They go into their father's house once more, wringing their hands, and
betraying all the symptoms of affliction. Here is their mother, too,
coming to peer into the distance, she is rocking with that motion
peculiar to Irishwomen when suffering distress. She places her open hand
upon her brows that she may collect her sight to a particular spot; she
is blinded by her tears; breaks out into a low wail, and returns with
something like the darkness of despair on her countenance.
Pages:
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180